I Am a Book of Snow
by Cerezax
Summary: A storm blows in while Bellamy is at work, and with it comes a petite blonde. (Bellarke) (A different take on the "snowed in" trope) (Cross posted from AO3) (Title is a Steinbeck quote, and the opening line is from a work by Pablo Neruda.)


**I Am a Book of Snow**

"What good is the warmth of summer without the cold of winter to give it sweetness?" He muttered under his breath, though he did not share that level of optimism.

Bellamy stood at the door, grimly staring out the small, four-pane window. The snow, which had started in the early hours of the morning, showed no sign, not even the slightest inclination, of slowing. He had been buried deep in the stacks when he had received the first of many notifications to his phone. There had originally been just a couple inches of snow predicted, but as the day progressed, that little bit of snow had turned into a significant amount and finally a severe winter storm warning. That final notification had been enough for Bellamy to admit it was time to shut down for the day and make the trek home. The snow was already about knee deep outside and the temperature was well below freezing; it was unlikely that anyone would be coming into the shop today. Of course by that, he meant that there was no chance at all. He would much rather get home anyways, before the storm got any worse and before he risked getting snowed in.

In between each of those notifications, Bellamy had also fielded several calls from his sister, Octavia.

" _Are you okay, Bell?"_ She had asked the first time. The sound of his phone ringing had startled Bellamy to the point of nearly dropping the stack of books he had in his arms. The shop had been silent for hours and the sudden noise broke that silence like a stone being hurled through glass. He assured his sister that he was fine, that the storm wasn't as bad as it sounded, and there was no reason to worry. After hanging up, he returned to unpacking a couple of boxes. He had been in the shop for a couple of months now, but there were still boxes stacked in every corner. It was going to take a few more months before he would be able to stock his shelves with all the books he had. Bellamy wasn't even sure how many books he actually had in the building yet, and it was beyond him how he had managed to accumulate so many.

" _Please be careful, Bell,"_ she had implored the second time his phone rang. This time Bellamy had been waiting for the phone call. He had heard that the city was expecting a significant amount of snow and the information was sure to make Octavia worry all over again. Bellamy assured her that he was watching the snow and if it looked like it was getting too bad, he'd head home. It took much more convincing this time, but he managed to assuage her concern. As of right now, there was a great deal of snow falling, but it wasn't enough to warrant shutting down early. Instead, he continued to catalogue the books he had. It had been Octavia who showed him how to use the internet to keep his collection organized and to showcase what he had. Bellamy had always thought that the old paper catalogue worked just fine, but he had to admit that this worked far better. While he worked, the lights flickered slightly, just enough for Bellamy to notice. He glowered at the lights, daring them to go out. Damn old buildings.

" _Get home safe before it gets any worse,"_ she had all but ordered on the last phone call. By this time, the winter storm advisory had been sent out and the snow was reaching much higher than he had thought would happen. Despite that, Bellamy wasn't exactly inclined to head home yet. He had spent the last hour or so working to restore a gem of a book that he had rescued from a garage sale earlier this year. Of all the books Bellamy had restored in the last couple of years, he could already tell this would be his favorite. He should have been able to finish the project today, but Octavia didn't agree that it was a good reason to remain at the shop.

" _Bell, go home before you get trapped,"_ she said, the tone of her voice leaving very little room for argument. He had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, Octavia was probably right that heading home was the best course of action.

A fond smile had found its way onto Bellamy's face. All his life it had been his job to worry about his little sister. He may have been a touch overprotective, which Octavia had always been quick to point out. He had been on the receiving end of a countless number of slamming doors and silent treatments. For years, most of their phone calls had ended with him saying "I love you, be safe" to dead air after she had hung up on him.

Most twenty year olds spend their evenings making memories that they'll never forget, and many more that they'll never remember. Most twenty-somethings also spend their evenings studying and buried deep in textbooks. They didn't have a little sister that was their world; that they were responsible for. Bellamy spent his with a pot of coffee and his phone in front of him. He sat at the kitchen table until Octavia came in.

They loved each other deeply, but before she had left, Octavia was fighting to break free. She wanted her own life, without her lame older brother looking over her shoulder. She wanted to breathe, to make mistakes, to learn from them. She was ready to be out on her own. He had worked his whole adult life to be able to pay for her to go to University and he would gladly live through all the arguments and sleepless nights over again. Octavia had an unbelievable drive and had grown into one hell of a woman. Bellamy wouldn't take any credit in that, but he had given her every opportunity he could to let her grow into her own person. There was no better evidence than her choosing to go to University halfway across the country.

When she left, Bellamy had grudgingly promised Octavia that he would give her some space. _"You can't always be there, Bell,"_ she had explained. Despite the edge in her words, there was a softness in her voice. It was one that he couldn't argue, no matter how much it dug under his skin that he couldn't. Bellamy wanted nothing more than to protect his sister from the evils of the world and to make sure she never suffered like their mother had. At the same time, he wanted to show her the world and let her show the world that she was one of the great ones. It was an internal struggle between both sides and it was forever an irreconcilable battle.

In the end, he had respected his promise. It wasn't easy, but it was important that he did. For all his complaining, Octavia was right. She needed to be on her own; she needed to be independent. Even though Bellamy had nearly worried a hole into his stomach, he had avoided calling her every single day. He had managed to not call her after hearing about a student who had been killed on campus. He had held himself back from driving down there when the first of many, many storms had shut the city down.

There was nothing wrong with keeping up with the news, or so he told himself. It was the acting on it that was sure to bring down Octavia's wrath.

It had been an interesting role reversal since Octavia had been gone. Today was not the first time she had called Bellamy full of worry. She had also called a few times because she was just bored, or so she said. Bellamy felt a warmness in his heart when he realized, after the third or fourth time it happened, that Octavia actually missed him. Maybe he raised her alright after all.

After assuring his sister that he was going to head home immediately, Bellamy thought about the trip home. He realized that, maybe he should have left sooner – before it got this nasty out. It was sure to be a dreadful walk through the snow, and by the time he got home he was likely to be chilled to the bone. His scarf would be frozen to his lips, his hair would be dripping wet when it finally melted through, and it would take hours for his limbs to thaw out again. Awful. It was the last phone call from his sister that was the deciding factor to finally brave the cold. Well, that and not wanting to be trapped in a drafty bookstore with a radiator system that he swore was from the pre-war era.

He was just packing away his supplies when the bell above the front door jingled. From the back room like this, Bellamy couldn't be sure he had actually heard it. The sound had been faint, and it wouldn't have surprised him if a breeze had simply jostled the bell as it whipped its way through the small building. He probably would have dismissed it completely if he hadn't heard a voice follow the small jingling.

"Hello?" The girl's voice called. "Is anyone still here?"

Bellamy groaned. So close.

Leaving his book on the desk, Bellamy picked his way through the stacks towards the entrance. The air chilled around him and there were a few flakes floating by as he made his way closer. The girl probably let a ton of snow in, which was going to make sure that Bellamy had to stick around here to clean that mess up before heading home. Damnit.

When he came to the door there was a small figure standing with her back to the stacks. She was staring out the window, breathing into her hands trying to warm them up. She had on a large jacket and the hood was up tight around her head. Her boots had tracked a small trail of snow into the shop which were already melting into small puddles across the worn wooden floor.

"Hey, what can I do for ya?" Bellamy asked. He must have startled her as he noticed her shoulders tense before she spun around.

"Oh good, you are still open," she beamed as she pulled the scarf away from her mouth.

"Well I was just on my way - "

Bellamy lost his train of thought as he watched the girl lower the hood off of her head. The first thing he realized about this girl was that she was beautiful. Even without the sun, the girl's golden hair appeared to glow as she shook it out from underneath the multitude of layers. The snow continued to swirl around her, glittering and settling on her shoulders gently. Bellamy found himself thinking of the countless number of medieval books he had read throughout the years. Almost every one of them would describe, with painstaking detail, as the princess lowered her cloak to reveal either her identity or beauty. In this moment, the girl at his door did the same movement and revealed both. If he remembered anything about this customer, it was sure to be this moment.

He cleared his throat, "I uh, was just heading out actually. Before this storm gets any worse."

Bellamy watched her face fall as he spoke and he had to convince himself that he hadn't actually seen her eyes lose some of their sparkle. He already knew that he was going to do far more to help her than he really should. He also realized that meant he probably wasn't going home any time soon. Remembering the sound of worry in his sister's voice during their last phone call was enough to stir a sense of resentment in Bellamy. Shouldn't this girl be at home, like most sensible people during the storm of the year?

Sighing as he knew he was sure to regret this, he asked, "what did you need?"

The blonde broke out into a smile so bright that Bellamy was surprised it didn't melt the snow right then and there. If that's how she smiled when she got her way, then Bellamy was definitely going to do whatever he could to earn another one of those. The blinding smile quickly turned into a sly grin as she said, "a book."

He laughed in spite of himself.

"You really trudged all the way here in that storm for a book?"

She shrugged as though it were nothing, as though she had not walked through knee-deep snow and below freezing temperatures to make it here. She made it seem as though this was something she did all the time. Something about this girl told Bellamy that this likely was something she would do regularly. There was a fire behind her eyes that made him feel as though she liked to push the envelope and push buttons.

"It's a good book," she said simply. There was something about the way she said the words, though, that made Bellamy wonder what it was about this book. She had struggled to keep her voice even as she spoke. There was something she was desperately trying not to say, and it piqued his interest.

Rather than push the matter though, Bellamy gave her an easy smirk, "brave princess."

Bellamy nodded his head back towards the stacks and led her deeper into the shop. She was looking for a copy of The Wind in the Willows, an old children's novel that he remembered reading to Octavia when she was small. He had just catalogued the novel that afternoon, so it was simply a matter of finding exactly where on the shelf it had been.

The small blonde followed behind him, her eyes roaming the spines of the books as they went. She was chattering on about something or other, but Bellamy was barely listening. He was lost in his own little world of dusty books and making mental notes of little jobs he needed to do later. Dust the shelves. That stack of books were out of order. A few books were upside down. That novel is on the wrong shelf. A couple dividers would go a long way on these shelves. It was never ending, but it was worth it if he managed to have the kind of book shop he used to wander through as a kid.

"Ah-ha!" Bellamy exclaimed as he pulled a book from a shelf and blew the dust from it, "I knew it was around here. One copy of The Wind in the Willows."

Clarke hastily took it from his hands and flipped it open. She flipped through the pages rapidly before landing on the opening page once more. Gently she pulled the dust cover back from the novel. A quick glance underneath and she closed it again and handed it back to Bellamy.

"Nope," she frowned, "not the one."

Bellamy furrowed his brow, "are you looking for a specific copy?"

She nodded her head, "didn't I say that?"

"No, you didn't. What are you looking for exactly? A first edition or something?"

"Not exactly. I'll know it when I see it. Do you have any other copies?"

He thought about his stock and remembered recording two other copies of the novel when he was getting ready to transport all his books to the shop. The only question was where they could be at this point. The copy currently in his hand was the only one on this shelf which was a sure sign that any other copy was buried in a box somewhere in his office, or worse, in the back room.

The problem was that Bellamy had at least a few dozen boxes that had remained untouched since he brought them into the shop. Each box looked the same as the last, and not one had been labeled with what was inside. If he had to do it all over again, it had already been decided that a list would be made for what was inside each box. Unfortunately, that did little to improve the current situation.

"If we both look through boxes, we'll find it," she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

The way she said it was so matter-of-fact that it left very little room for discussion. It wasn't a suggestion, nor was it a question she was posing to him. As far as she was concerned, it was the logical next step. If she thought it was an inconvenience of any sort, she gave no indication of knowing so.

Bellamy glanced out the window and saw that the snow was falling much heavier now, and the wind had picked up significantly. The chance to get home without difficulty had passed by now, if it had existed at all. It wasn't going to get any better out there though, and any logical person would take this opportunity to head home. He could always find the book for this girl later and set it aside, right? Bellamy liked to think of himself as a logical person and there wasn't a good enough reason to not close shop before the storm shut the whole city down.

Then she smiled at him. It wasn't the same bright smile from when he agreed to help, but it was just as dazzling. It was full of an almost childish hope and it pulled at Bellamy, beckoned him to help this girl. He resigned to staying until she had what she was looking for. He was such a sucker.

"Alright, but this book better be worth it," Bellamy winked.

"It is to me."

For some reason, Bellamy really believed her. He didn't know what it was about this specific book that was so important to the blonde, but it was more than just a book to her, that much was clear. Earlier she had fought to keep her voice from breaking when she said it was a "good book." This time he had noticed her eyes were a little glassy as she spoke. Again his interest was piqued, but he still didn't push the issue. He didn't need to know what the book meant to her; just knowing it was important was enough motivation for Bellamy to need to find this novel. Even if it meant going through cardboard box after cardboard box.

Which is precisely what it meant.

"Well, we've got our work cut out for us," Bellamy said as he flipped the lights on in the storage room.

The room was a nightmare. There were more boxes in this room than seemed possible. The stacks were higher than Bellamy was tall and deep enough that the two couldn't see the wall opposite of them. Bellamy had never anticipated anyone seeing this back room, so organizing it beyond this had never dawned on him. It was meant to store books he was not ready to put on shelves yet, and nothing more.

"Wow," she exclaimed, "you have an impressive collection back here."

He shrugged, "I've been amassing it for a while. One day I'll get it all out on the shelves."

"Have any inclination as to where to start?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Bellamy replied.

Bellamy made a mental note to set aside an afternoon soon to organize some of this chaos. There had been some method to the madness of packing, so he had high hopes that the boxes were packed by genre or author or something similar. If that was the case, then he could label them accordingly and stack them in some way that made sense and looked a little less like a pat rack was living back here. On second thought, that job was going to require a little more than an afternoon. If it prevented another hunt like this though, it was worth it.

Then again, Bellamy couldn't imagine doing something like this for just any customer. Octavia used to tease him that he was a sucker for a cute girl and he knew that she would laugh until tears streamed down her face when he told her this story. It wasn't because she was cute, though that definitely helped her case. It was more than his need to help people, too. Bellamy couldn't justify it to himself, but he was sure there was a reason that this girl came into his bookstore. Or maybe he's read one too many stories.

The longer the two of them were rummaging through the back room, the less able Bellamy became to justify the choice to do this. There was no point in even pretending that this wasn't a horrible ordeal. It was dark, cramped, kind of creepy, and cold. Definitely cold. There was obviously a leak to the outside somewhere in here as every so often a bluster of wind and snow would wind through the piles of boxes and cut through to his bone. Even though she was dressed for the cold, Bellamy still felt the need to apologize to his blonde guest for the breezy atmosphere. She had shrugged it off casually and told him that she wasn't actually cold and it didn't bother her. He might have bought that if there hadn't been a quiver in her voice as she spoke.

They were mostly quiet as they worked, their focus intent on the task at hand. There was some chatter thrown back and forth, but it was mostly stilted and punctuated by somewhat awkward silences. Bellamy wasn't big on small talk and she didn't seem too put out by that. Each time she spoke, however, he noticed the shiver in her voice becoming much more prominent. It was obvious she wouldn't admit she was cold, but he was starting to wonder how long it would be before the both of them turned blue.

"You may not be cold, but I think I'm actually freezing. Why don't we take a few of these boxes into the shop instead?" Bellamy offered. "I have a space heater in there that we can plug in," he added to sweeten the deal.

"That actually sounds great. I can't feel my nose," she finally admitted.

Bellamy hoisted up a stack of four boxes and led them back out into the main shop. Although the radiator was a real piece of shit, it was already substantially warmer in here than the back room had been. Maybe sometime in the next hour Bellamy would regain the feeling in his fingers. Next to his stack, the girl set down another two boxes. Before anything though, Bellamy needed that space heater. There was an instant sense of relief once it was plugged in and blowing heat.

"Okay, this is way better," she admitted with a sigh.

She had spoken too soon though. The lights flickered throughout the building and the flow of warmth from the heater stuttered.

"No, no, no. Not again. Don't you dare!" Bellamy bemoaned.

There had been far too many nights he spent working in the dark because of the old wires. He suspected that this time it was more than just the faulty wiring that threatened to plunge them into darkness. The storm outside was blowing hard enough to make the whole building creak. The lights had gone out before for much less. The lights halted in their flickering, and for a brief moment Bellamy felt triumphant.

Then they were in darkness.

Somewhere behind him, Bellamy was sure he heard her curse.

"You've got to be kidding me," she lamented.

This definitely put a damper on their search. If nothing else though, it meant Bellamy was much closer to being cozy in his apartment than he had thought. He felt bad for the girl, of course, but he was really looking forward to making it home.

"I'm sorry, this is shitty. I'm sure I'll be able to find it, though. If you leave me your number I can give you a call – " He was only going to use her number in a professional manner, of course.

She quickly interrupted him, "Maybe the power will come back on?"

"Unlikely, looks like the whole block is out."

Bellamy could just see out the front window of the shop, and there wasn't a single light to be seen. The other stores were all black, but it was hard to tell if they had been dark already because their respective owners had been smart enough to head home earlier. Not only that, but all the streetlights were out, too. The lack of light on the abandoned street made it all look rather eerie.

"Could we wait?" She asked, her voice small in the darkness.

It somehow lacked the same push as it had before. Perhaps that was because Bellamy couldn't see her brilliant smile or her pleading eyes.

"You can't be serious," Bellamy snapped, "it is like snowmageddon out there, the power is out, we have next to no heat, and you want to hang out and hope the power comes back? All for just a book?"

"It's not just a book," she bit back. She sighed, "look, I know I'm asking a lot. I just…I just really need that book."

There was a hitch in her voice, and he was faintly sure that he had heard her sniffle a couple of times as well. Oh he was so screwed.

Bellamy hung his head, "fine, but on one condition."

"Anything!" Her voice had perked back up, and it made Bellamy oddly happy to hear it.

"You have to tell me why The Wind in the Willows is worth all this."

"That's fair," she agreed. He had been more than patient, after all.

He sighed, "this is against my better judgement. Wait here, I'll be right back."

Bellamy carefully picked his way through the shelves and the piles of boxes and books they were surrounded by. This was not the first time he'd made this blind walk back to his office. After the first couple of times he had been plunged into darkness, Bellamy decided it was important to be prepared.

"Now where are you," he muttered to himself as he rummaged through the drawers on his desk.

It became abruptly obvious that he had far too much junk in these drawers already. His entire shop seemed to contradict how much Bellamy really did enjoy order and organization. At least this search turned up the results he was looking for. It was a couple minutes before Bellamy could head back out to where he had left the blonde. It was probably silly, but he felt kind of bad about abandoning her in the dark and all alone.

"There you are, I was starting to wonder if you'd snuck out the back or something," she joked. "Oh! Candles. Smart."

"I thought so," he grinned, "and some hot chocolate. Seemed appropriate." He handed her a mug, one that was definitely kept at the shop for the odd time that Octavia was able to stop by, and sipped on his own.

She looked at him skeptically, "hot chocolate without power? Are you a wizard?"

"Battery powered kettle in the office," he explained, "comes in handy."

"So not a wizard, but a boy scout," she laughed, "do you get stuck without power a lot?"

"Be prepared," Bellamy said with mock seriousness, "ya it's been known to happen. Old building has pretty shitty wiring in combination with a shady radiator."

Bellamy placed the candles carefully on the ground. He knew it was a precarious situation to have an open flame around so many old books. As long as they were careful, it should be fine though. These candles were the only real source of light they had, which made him realize that maybe flashlights would have been a better choice. Another mental note made: bring flashlights for the shop.

With the boxes and books surrounding them, the two settled down onto the floor with their drinks. Steam rose off the mugs, dancing into the air around them like ghosts in the soft light. Their own breath had long become visible in the darkness, and twisted in the air to join the steam from their hot chocolate. The front window was just visible from their spot on the floor, and they could see the large, fluffy flakes still floating down to the ground. It was actually a really beautiful moment, and if it wasn't fast approaching freezing, Bellamy may have actually enjoyed it.

"So the owner doesn't mind you dipping into their private stash?" She asked, her nose deep in the mug.

"Definitely not," he chuckled. "It's actually my book store."

Her eyebrows shot up, "really?"

"Is it really that surprising?" He asked, a little unsure if he should be offended or not.

"It's just that you're so young! I mean, I'm pretty sure I couldn't do my taxes let alone run a business."

Being called young sounded foreign to Bellamy's ears. It wasn't just because Octavia liked to "gently" remind him that he was an old man, but because he honestly felt that way. He was far too tired to only be in his mid-twenties. He understood where she was coming from, though. Any bookshop owner he had met in his time, especially in a smaller city like this, had become an owner during their retirement. The same went for the shop he used to work at. Mr. Paige had opened a shop as something to do to keep himself occupied after he stopped working. He had been passionate about books, and he ran his store with that passion right up until the day he died.

It was because of Mr. Paige that Bellamy had opened his own store. All throughout his childhood, Bellamy had found solace in escaping to the world of whatever novel he was reading. Growing up, Bellamy had made better connections with books than he did with people. There was never a time when he didn't have a book in his hands. It wasn't until he met Mr. Paige that he realized that his love of books didn't necessarily have to be a hobby only. Mr. Paige's shop was exactly the kind of bookstore Bellamy had been searching for all his life. There wasn't a single customer that came into that store that wasn't treated like family, and many of those customers ended up on a first name basis with Mr. Paige. The same comfortable feeling extended to Bellamy as well, and working at that store had been some of his favorite years.

When Mr. Paige died, Bellamy found out that he made quite the impression on the old man, too. A large sum of money had been left for Bellamy, and it was enough for him to open his own store. There was also enough to take a course in book restoration, which was something Bellamy had always wished to do. It was the nicest thing someone had ever done for him, and Bellamy could hardly believe it. It was the least he could do to name his new shop "Pages," a small nod to the man who had helped him find his way.

The pretty blonde has listened intently as Bellamy relayed a story that he had only ever told to Octavia before, and it wasn't until he finished that he started to feel a little embarrassed. That was a deeply personal story to share with a complete stranger.

"I'm Clarke," she said. When she caught the incredulous look on his face she added, "I thought maybe you'd feel a little less awkward if I at least had a name."

Bellamy smirked, "It helps a little, I guess. Bellamy."

"Guess it's my turn, huh?" Clarke sighed. "When I was a kid, my dad would read to me before bed every night. We read book after book after book, but I always made him go back to The Wind in the Willows. We must have read it a dozen times over before I turned ten."

Bellamy smiled softly, remembering the books he had read over and over again as a kid. He had read The Velveteen Rabbit enough times that several of the pages had fallen out of the spine.

"For my twelfth birthday, he bought me a beautiful copy of the novel to replace the worn copy we'd been reading. The cover was stunning, but underneath the dust cover it was blank. I was so sad that it looked so plain that my dad decided to do something about it," she smiled fondly.

"He snuck into my room one night and took the book off my nightstand. He stayed up all night drawing a beautiful cover for the book. I kept the dust cover on anyways, though, so that the drawing was just for me."

"That's really sweet. So why are you looking for it in used book stores?" Bellamy asked as he ripped open another box to look through.

Clarke dropped her gaze to the box she was currently rummaging through. There had been an immense joy on her face while she spoke about the book, but now there was no trace of that joy. Bellamy was about to tell her that she didn't have to tell him anything more when she spoke up again. This time her voice was full of false bravado.

It had been a year since her father had died. It had been the longest year of her life, but at the same time she couldn't believe how quickly it had all gone by. She hadn't talked about it much, but ignoring it really hadn't made Clarke feel any better. It was inescapable.

When Clarke had first heard the news, she had been told it was an accident. It wasn't until later that the truth had come out: he had been in a collision with a drunk driver. He had died on impact.

"It was supposed to be my mom coming to get me, not my dad. He wasn't even supposed to be driving that night," Clarke said as she absentmindedly pulled books from the box nearest to her. She had avoided eye contact since she began talking.

There had been an art show that ran late that night, and her mom had offered to pick her up afterwards so Clarke wouldn't have to pay for parking. Something had apparently come up last minute and she sent Clarke's dad instead. The way Clarke said it, Bellamy got the idea that it was something that happened more often than not. At the time, Clarke had placed the blame with her mom for her father dying. Part of her even now still hadn't forgiven her mom, but back then it was enough to tear the family apart.

Clarke couldn't cope with the loss and had packed a small bag, jumped in her car, and left. For the better part of the year she had driven without looking back. She spent time in New York, Seattle, Vancouver, and San Diego; it was all about putting as much distance between herself and the hole that was left behind by her father's absence.

Somewhere around Portland she decided it was finally time to come home. That's when she had found out her mom had done an intense clean out of the house while she had been gone. She had boxed up and donated or sold a bunch of items from Clarke's childhood, including a large number of books. After hours of searching, Clarke had discovered that her beloved copy of The Wind in the Willows was gone. Clarke had then torn through every single used book store and pawn shop in town trying to track it down. When she saw this shop had just posted today that they had a copy, she hurried down before they had the chance to sell it to someone else.

"It's all I have left," she concluded. "I need that book."

Bellamy habitually started to spin the ring on his index finger. His mother had worked overtime for several months to be able to afford the simple black tungsten band. She had given it to him for his eighteenth birthday with tears in her eyes. Sometimes, in the dead of night, Bellamy could hear her telling him how proud she was of him and how much she loved him. As a child she had always made sure there was a present for both he and Octavia on their birthdays, but this was by far the most meaningful gift she had ever given him. It also happened to be the last.

Bellamy was fairly certain he knew what Clarke was feeling right now. There was nothing he could say in response right now though. He knew she had heard "I'm sorry" more times than she could count, and it really didn't help. Telling her he understood wasn't fair because he didn't understand; he couldn't live in her shoes enough to understand.

"I uh," he stuttered, "I lost my mom a few years back. It's not the same, I know, but I do get it."

Clarke breathed out heavily, her eyes welling up again. Bellamy had watched her fight back her feelings of grief throughout the night, but it was obvious that she had grown tired; tired of fighting and tired of a search that appeared to become more hopeless as the hours passed.

"Hey, we're going to find it Clarke. We will," he assured.

She nodded, albeit a little glumly, and returned to her search. The two rooted through boxes in the dark, in the cold, and in silence, for the better part of an hour. Finally, from the bottom of a box filled with books like Faust and I, Claudius, Bellamy found another copy of The Wind in the Willows.

"Look what I found," Bellamy called over his shoulder.

Clarke barely heard him though, as she too pulled a copy of the book from a box where she also found Watership Down and Charlotte's Web.

"Me too."

"Well, these are the only other copies I have. So it's gotta be one of these."

Clarke, somewhat slower and more cautiously than before, opened the cover of the book in her hand. Her shoulders slumped almost immediately and she placed the book back into the box.

"Not it," she said, pointlessly.

That meant the last chance was in Bellamy's hands. He tried to convince her that the book could still be found, even if this wasn't her copy. He even promised to help her find it if this wasn't it. Nothing seemed to put her at ease. Bellamy could see her hands shaking, and it wasn't just the cold that was getting to the small girl. There was a lot riding on this book, and he knew it.

There was nothing he could say or do that would make her feel any better until she had the book she needed. No, it wouldn't bring her father back. No it wouldn't numb the pain, either. What it could do, though, was give her a sense of peace. It would give her a small piece of him back. It was a sentiment that only someone who had suffered a loss could really understand.

Bellamy handed the book over to Clarke feeling just as grim as she looked.

She quirked an eyebrow, "why are you being so nice to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean before this afternoon you didn't even know who I was. Then I walk in here in the middle of a blizzard and insist we search for a specific book. For all you knew, I was a crazy person. Yet here you are, practically bending over backwards to help me. Why?"

If Bellamy couldn't answer that question for himself earlier, he sure as hell couldn't answer it now for her. At the start, there had been no rational reason for him to have been so determined to help her find what she was looking for. He had simply been compelled to do so. After hearing her story, it was just the human thing to do. He shrugged because he didn't have a real answer.

"Guess I'm a sucker for a cute girl," he finally said, knowing that was the exact reason Octavia would come up with.

She smirked, "fair enough."

In all her time hunting for the book, she never thought about what would happen when she came to the last copy she could get her hands on. If it was the one she needed, or worse if it wasn't, she really wasn't sure how she was going to react to either outcome. She had spent so much energy focusing on finding on the book that she hadn't thought enough about what finding it, or not finding it, would mean.

"You're stalling," he pointed out.

Clarke took a deep breath in an attempt to slow her pounding heart. He was right, and she had done so long enough. Her hands still trembling, she peeled back the dust cover and was greeted by a beautiful and familiar illustration on the book's cover.

She broke out into the biggest and brightest grin Bellamy had seen on her face yet. With a great sense of relief, he released the breath he had been holding.

Then she was up on her tip-toes and throwing her arms around his neck. Her lips came crashing down on his and for a moment he lost himself in the sensation. He could feel her smiling against his lips as she giggled.

Just as suddenly as he found her in his arms, he found her leaving them. She looked shocked and a little bit embarrassed as a tint of pink spread across her cheeks.

"Oh my goodness, I am so sorry!" She said, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Bellamy cleared his throat, "no, um, don't apologize. Really."

"I was just so excited and you'd been so nice and I hadn't really thought about what would happen when I found the book and you're really cute and I just wanted to thank you and I wasn't thinking clearly and I honestly was just so excited – " she started to ramble.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're really cute when you babble?" He laughed, "I do think that I'm supposed to buy you dinner first, though."

Clarke grinned slyly, "then let's go."

Hi eyes widened, "what, now?"

"Why not?" She said with a shrug.

Bellamy had to admit that she did have a point. What else was he going to do all evening anyways? Probably read The Pillars of the Earth for the thirteenth time. Having dinner with a cute blonde sounded much more enjoyable.

He blew out the candles, returned them to his desk drawer and grabbed his jacket off the rack next to the door. When he returned to the front, he saw that she had already donned her coat again.

"Oh! How much for the book?" Clarke asked.

He shook his head, "I can't charge you for it."

"And I can't just take your book. How much?" She insisted.

"It belongs to you. Selling it to you just feels wrong. Besides, you just agreed to let me take you out for dinner. You're probably gonna feel like you've paid me enough," he said with a wry laugh. Clarke gave him a playful shove in response.

He knew there was a lot he should do before leaving his shop. There were tools to put away, books to pack away again, boxes to stow, invoices to fill out, and he really should mop up the puddles that had yet to dry out from when Clarke came into the shop. He had a long list of odd jobs he had noted throughout the day that he had wanted to finish before heading out as well. Funny enough, he didn't want to waste time doing any of them.

"I can't believe the power never came back on," Clarke mused as she waited for Bellamy to lock the door.

"I can. This storm is intense," he had to practically yell over the sound of the wind whipping between them.

"It is pretty bad out here. You should have headed home hours ago, what's the matter with you?"

Bellamy smirked. What a smart ass.


End file.
